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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28675506">caution: keep out of reach of children (and my shaking hands)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drug Use, Gen, Hospital Visit, Overdosing, Probably not the best way to cope but what the hell, Projecting a similar version of my attempt onto Wilbur!, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot is Not Okay, Wilbur Soot-centric, suicide ideation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:48:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,779</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28675506</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Do not exceed the stated dose</em>, the box had warned. <em>Immediate medical attention should be sought in the event of overdosage even if you feel well, because of the risk of delayed, serious liver damage.</em></p><p>If eight tiny little pills are enough to put someone in the hospital for “serious liver damage”, then fourteen should be more than enough to kill him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eret &amp; Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot &amp; Everyone, Wilbur Soot &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>caution: keep out of reach of children (and my shaking hands)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>tw suicide attempt, alcohol use </p><p>ended kinda awfully because I was starting it trigger myself 🙃</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There are fourteen little white pills in the palm of Wilbur's hand.</p><p>He's already thrown out the box they came in - he's not going to be leaving a mess behind. He came out to his bridge instead of staying at home for a reason after all. He leans against the cold stone, shivering as the wind bites through the fabric of his yellow sweater. His phone lies next to him, screen dark. He's not entirely sure if he's going to say goodbye yet.</p><p><em>Maybe,</em> Wilbur thinks as vodka burns his throat, <em>maybe.</em></p><p>He's pretty fucking drunk, but he knows he wants to do this. He’s been planning this for a while, but it’s only now that he has the courage to actually go through with it. The pills roll around in his sweaty hand, bumpy and hard. <em>Do not exceed the stated dose</em>, the box had warned. <em>Immediate medical attention should be sought in the event of overdosage even if you feel well, because of the risk of delayed, serious liver damage.</em></p><p>If eight tiny little pills are enough to put someone in the hospital for “serious liver damage”, then fourteen should be more than enough to kill him.</p><p>He really hopes nobody he loves sees his body.</p><p>Wilbur's phone buzzes. It's eight-thirteen at night. He's being called on the discord, probably about the festival. Maybe it's the liquid confidence talking, but suddenly, he really, really wants to break the news that he won't be there for it. He won't be there for any more events.</p><p>He answers the call, downing pills with a mouthful of vodka. It takes three swallows - five, then five, then four, all in quick succession - and it <em>burns,</em> and he definitely should've just used water, but whatever. His palms are sweaty and holy shit, he actually did it. In a few hours, Wilbur is going to die.</p><p>Leaning back, he swings his legs, the water below rippling with the wind. Everyone's voices mix together, a bright and lovely choir that Wilbur loves to listen to, even if he'll never truly be apart of it. This isn’t a terrible way to die, if he’s being honest. “Hey, guys," his voice is hoarse, either from smoke or alcohol, and he grimaces slightly, before taking another swig of his drink.</p><p><em>"Jesus, Wil,”</em> Phil’s voice comes out over the speaker, tinny and half-joking. He thinks he can hear a bit of worry, but he knows it’s probably out of obligation, if it’s even there at all. <em>“You sound awful.</em>”</p><p>He blinks, staring at the phone. The streetlights are too bright, his palms are so sweaty, and it hasn’t even been five minutes yet. The placebo effect, maybe? It wasn’t the fast-acting version he took. “Yeah... yeah, I’m pretty drunk so...”</p><p>“<em>You’re not outside again, are you?”</em> Tommy asks. Ranboo and Tubbo voice their agreement in the background, some comments about his mic quality being thrown around, <em>“I can hear wind.”</em> <em>I am outside,</em> he wants to say, but it comes out as a slurred mumble.</p><p>“<em>Can’t hear you, Wil, what did you say?”</em> Is that Eret? He’s not sure. He thinks he can hear Techno too, but’s it’s all muddled together. It’s getting hard to breathe, and all he can do is take another swing of alcohol in a desperate attempt to calm himself down.</p><p><em>”Wilbur?”</em> Amidst the confused murmuring on the phone, Niki’s voice is a lighthouse, lighting his way and helping him pull himself out of the sea of panic he’s found himself in. He’s glad; he doesn’t want to die afraid.</p><p>“Sorry,” his voice cracks, “Sorry, I’m... I need to tell you something.”</p><p><em>”Did something happen?”</em> Oh, Dream’s here now too. Nearly everyone’s online. He really couldn’t have picked a better time to say goodbye, could he?</p><p>“I’m here— I want—“ Wilbur swallows, rubbing his thumb over the neck of the bottle. Christ, why is he so nervous now? Get it over with. “I want to say goodbye.”</p><p>
  <em>”Huh?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>”But you just got here?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>”What do you mean?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>”Wilbur?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>”The fuck does that mean?”</em>
</p><p>“I— This is the last time you’ll hear from me,” he admits. His hands shake, though it’s only been twenty minutes. It feels like it’s been longer. He’s so cold. “I’m not... I’m going to kill myself, I just wanted to say goodbye.” The call has gone dead silent, and there’s breathing, but it could be theirs or his own, he’s not sure. “Sorry, I just wanted to listen— I can hang up, you probably don’t want—“</p><p><em>”No, oh my god, don’t hang up,”</em> Phil sounds upset, fuck, he shouldn’t have said anything. Christ, he can’t do anything right, can he? <em>”Wilbur, Wilbur, are you safe? Where are you?”</em></p><p>“It doesn’t matter. I— It doesn’t— get the kids out please. Tommy and Tubbo and Ranboo and— and— whoever else, just go, go please, I don’t want you to hear this— <em>please.</em>”</p><p>
  <em>”What—?! Fuck no—“</em>
</p><p>
  <em>”Wilbur, we’re not going to leave...!”</em>
</p><p>Panic grips his throat, and this time, he can’t fight it away. This was a bad idea, calling them. Fuck, he shouldn’t have done this, why did he—</p><p><em>”Wilbur!”</em> Dream’s voice is sharp, stilted with barely concealed panic, but it’s enough to grab his attention. <em>”Wilbur,</em> where are you?”</p><p><em>”You’ve got to tell us, Wil,”</em> Techno says, a much more calmer monotone (though it wavers once or twice) that he doesn’t hesitate to latch onto. <em>”Deep breaths. If you don’t know, try telling us what you can see.”</em> Wilbur thinks he can hear a car door slam in the background, can hear talking and begging, and he just wants it all to <em>stop.</em></p><p>“No, no, stay away. I don’t want to— I have to die, I’m such a fucking screw up, and this— this is— jumping’s the only thing I can do right. I can’t keep living like this. Please, let’s just keep talking about other stuff, I want everything to be normal when I...” his vision blurs, and Wilbur blinks hard and fast to get rid of the tears. Fuck, he really doesn’t want to cry. All he wanted was one last chat. He really can’t do anything right—</p><p><em>”Wilbur. Wilbur. Listen to me,”</em> Techno’s voice is firm and grounding, calm despite the situation. It’s admirable, really. <em>”You don’t have to die. Nobody thinks you’re a screw-up, and we all... Wil, we all care about you a lot. Your life is worth so much more. Get away from the edge.”</em></p><p>“I have to,” he repeats, “I have to, I don’t deserve to—“</p><p><em>”Don’t fucking say that!”</em> Tommy’s shout startles him, nearly making him drop his phone below into the water. <em>”You don’t deserve to die! You don’t!”</em> He sounds panicked and upset, barely choking back tears, and Wilbur’s the one who’s done that to him.</p><p>“Tommy—“</p><p><em>”Please, Wil,”</em> Niki begs, <em>”Tell us where you are. You— You don’t have to die.”</em></p><p>She’s crying.</p><p>A lot of people are crying, he realizes. It’s all his fault.</p><p>He doesn’t think he can do this anymore, and it’s a terrifying realization because he’s already swallowed the pills, and they’re already in his stomach, and oh god, he doesn’t want to die like this, he just wanted to be <em>happy—</em></p><p><em>”Wilbur. Breathe,”</em> Eret soothes, and he tries his best to, but it’s so hard. Everything feels like it’s too much.</p><p>”It’s not, I’m scared, I took so many, Eret, I—“ A hiccuping sob cuts him off, and they hum, far too calm and melodic.</p><p><em>”Okay, that’s— the pills aren’t good, but Wilbur, we really need your location, can you share it?”</em> With shaky hands (because he’s dying and someone’s gonna find his body because he’s so fucking <em>stupid</em>), he types, and fuck, he doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t want to disappoint Eret and everyone else even more, even if he can’t seem to do a single thing right— <em>”Great job, Wil. Phil’s coming to pick you up. He’s close by. When did you take those pills? How safe are you?”</em></p><p>“N-Not too long, maybe half an house... and I’m— I’m sitting on the edge of bridge,” he croaks out, probably the dictionary definition of pathetic. “...I dropped my vodka in the water. It was still pretty full.”</p><p><em>”That, uh, sucks. Do you think you can get away from the edge?”</em> And they’re being so nice about it, too nice, nicer than Wilbur deserves, and so he does. It’s— he’s not sure if it’s disappointing or relieving or a weird mix of the two, but he feels <em>something</em> when he steps over the rail, back onto solid ground. His hands haven’t stopped shaking, and his mouth tastes like cotton, and he’s cold, but he’s not alone. He’s not alone.</p><p>“Keep— can you keep talking? Sorry, I—“</p><p>
  <em>”Of course, Wil. Don’t apologize. We’d love to talk. Uh, Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo, you guys gotta go, adults only.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>”Wha—!?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>”Tommy.”</em>
</p><p><em>”Fine. We </em>will<em> see you in the morning, big man.”</em> It’s not a question; it’s a command. Does Tommy really think he’ll make it through?</p><p>They leave, and then it’s just everyone else, talking about everything and anything, making sure he’s still on the line and awake.</p><p>It seems to take ages, but eventually he hears tires squeal against the pavement, and Phil’s rushing out to grab him, pulling him into a hug. “Thank god you’re alright,” he mumbles, before pulling him into the car. He doesn’t stop him. “We’re going to the hospital, okay?” Phil doesn’t wait for an answer, starting the car and moving so quickly that if Wilbur weren’t so sleepy, he would’ve been worried about all the traffic laws he’s breaking.</p><p>
  <em>”Shit, Wilbur—“</em>
</p><p>“Wil, Wil, you’ve gotta stay awake, just a few more minutes, please!”</p><p>
  <em>”Wake up! Don’t—“</em>
</p><p>His eyes slip shut, and he’s out.</p>
<hr/><p>Wilbur wakes up in a hospital room.</p><p>His body is heavy, fatigue weighing him down, and... he’s not alone. Phil’s with him, holding his hand as he sleeps in a chair next to his bed. He didn’t think he would stay. He didn’t think he would get out of this alive.</p><p>But he has.</p><p>He can’t do this to them again. The screaming and the pleading will haunt him for years to come, and knowing that’s how they’ll react... he just can’t.</p><p>Wilbur leans back into the pillow. He’s still tired though, in both senses of the word, and nobody’s going to let this go without a lengthy conversation that he’s frankly dreading. But it’s nice right now, with Phil’s hand in his. Maybe, he thinks, maybe everything will be okay.</p><p>He shuts his eyes, and for the first in a long time, Wilbur sleeps through the night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the magic of ✨🌈projection🌈✨ am i right boys</p></blockquote></div></div>
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